Maybe
by Fira21
Summary: When so many are dead and the field is saturated with the blood of hundreds, and the very air reeks of battle... When comfort is needed... Is it possible for an enemy to become a friend? Maybe... HD fluff or friendship !Pre-DH!


Somewhat of a HarryDraco. If you don't like that sort of thing, I suppose it could be looked at as friendship. It all depends, as it is nothing is a certainty here, and is mostly the ramblings of my mind because I get introspective sometimes. It's also more difficult than you would think to find characters where you _can_ be introspective and wise and not have them turn out horribly OOC. As it is, enjoy!

**Note: Minor corrections have been made. This is pre-DH.**

_Disclaimer:_ If I owned it, there would probably be more slash. Or at least hinted slash.

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It was strange. All of it was strange. But then again, nothing had ever been normal to begin with, so maybe it wasn't so strange. Maybe this was what normal was for his life. Confusion, terror, pain, an unquenchable thirst for vengeance, maybe this was meant to be his life. Maybe his life was meant to a muddled mess of controversy and blurred lines where a friend could be an enemy, and an enemy was an enemy. Maybe he was destined to live with constant uncertainties. Never knowing if the decision he made was the right one, and when it wasn't, what decision he could have made that would've been any better.

Or his life was just completely fucked up… There was that possibility too. He allowed himself a chuckle, though there was no levity to it. No happiness here, on this ground. The ground of a battlefield.

As he looked around - one of the few motions he could still manage - he saw friends, comrades, enemies, and the like. And he realized that, enemy or not, they were all the same dead.

He saw flairs of red, and there was Ginny, lying dead in her own blood. Blood flowed within her hair, highlighting it with colours not unlike the mottled strands.

He could have married her, he mused. Could have, had she lived. But would he have? Yes, maybe, likely not, no. He wasn't sure. He didn't know if his affection for her was truly love, or if she was like the others, someone he had to protect. His love could very well have been an amplified need to keep her safe. Maybe because she was his best friend's sister and Ron always wanted to protect her so much. And he loved Ron, loved him like the brother he had wished for in the darkness of his cupboard when he always alone so many years ago. The same as he loved Hermione like a sister. His best friends. And he wasn't even sure if they were alive. When so many were dead and the field was saturated with the blood of hundreds, and the very air reeked of battle, he wasn't sure of anything.

More looking, it seemed that was all he could do was look. He couldn't move, though he had tried. He supposed immobility came with having your one leg cursed and blackened, and the other broken and mangled. He still tried though, numerous times, before giving up.

He was fairly sure that most of the Weasleys were alive. Ginny he knew was gone. But the others seemed alright when he had left, not all that long ago, to face Voldemort.

Remus was gone soon after the battle started. He had killed Bellatrix to avenge Sirius, Harry had let him. Sometimes water was thicker than blood, especially when filled with an undying devotion to the other party. It may not have made sense scientifically, but science be damned, it made sense to him. However, Snape had got Remus in the back as soon as Bellatrix had crumpled. Childhood revenge maybe. Or maybe Snape was just insane; it wouldn't surprise Harry in the least.

How many more though? How many more had died? He had seen so many go down; he couldn't begin to name them all.

He took no little satisfaction in knowing that the Deatheaters were gone. He had made sure of that, with an unlikely ally: Draco.

The battle had started fierce, intense, spells everywhere, few knew who killed whom until the number of fighters had dwindled, and targets were easier to find. More blood had been shed in the last few minutes of the fight, then during the entire battle.

And it was then that many noticed a blonde figure up in a tree lazily shooting at anything in masks he could see. Harry would've believed the uncaring stare in his face as the rogue Deatheater's wand flicked again and again, if not for the sheer determination etched on his face and flickering in his eyes.

Voldemort's followers noticed him soon after. Curses, word- and spell-like were flung, but the blonde merely jumped from his leafy post, deflecting spells, and made his way over to Harry were he continued waving his wand. Harry managed a smile, and got a grim one back.

Speaking of a certain blonde wizard…

It seemed he had escaped the fight relatively unscathed and was now making his way over to Harry who had managed to pull himself up and lean against the very tree Draco had hid in earlier.

The former Deatheater reached the Hero and sat beside him, giving a grimace at the state of said-Hero's legs.

Harry managed a humourless smile. "We can't all dodge as well as you. You lucky bastard." He said.

Draco gave him a grin, equally strained. "Well, I _was_ always better than you Potter." He replied.

"Was?" Harry nudged the blonde. "So does that mean I _am_ better than you now?"

It was silent for a moment, as Draco looked out at the expanse of death in front of them, and Harry noticed a deep cut across the other's cheek. Blood was pouring down face in a steady _drip drip_ towards the ground. There was nothing more he wanted to do then, than to clean the blood away. He had seen too much of it today.

"Yes." Came a soft whisper. Draco's head turned and his eyes met Harry's, locking onto them. Harry watched as a small but true smile touched the blonde's lips. "Yes, you are better than me. In more ways than you know. You always have been, and always will be."

"'In more ways than I know'? So you're saying you know something I don't?" Harry also managed a smile at his former-enemy.

Draco chuckled. "I know many things you don't know." It seemed he would leave it at that, but when Harry frowned, he added, "People care for you."

Green eyes lit in understanding. Harry shook his head and reached out his hand to finally brush away the blood that had bothered him earlier, _still_ bothered him. "People care for you too y'know." He told Draco, and watched as the latter shook his head slightly, not quite dislodging the hand still wiping off his cheek.

"No." He said, and grasped Harry's hand, now covered in the blonde's own blood. "No. People fear me, hate me and want to _kill_ me…" At the last he gave a dry laugh. Maybe it was because he hated that so many wanted him dead, or maybe he thought it impossible to kill him. Seeing as he was still alive instead of dead like the countless other strewn around him, maybe it was true. "But no one cares for me. Except maybe my mother and she's…"

"Dead?" Harry asked, and Draco nodded.

"My _father_," He nearly spat the word. "Decided to go completely insane before we left to fight and killed her. That's why… That's why I helped today. The Dark Lord had no leverage on me anymore." He was still holding Harry's hand and his grip had tightened, squeezing so hard it almost hurt. Harry returned it. A silent comfort. Draco gave a deep breath and continued "So no. I don't believe there's anyone else who cares." There was silence, and then, at barely a whisper, "Unless of course, you do Potter."

Harry smiled at the almost uncertain tone of the blonde's voice. Shifting into a more comfortable position, one where he was leaning half against the tree, and half on Draco, he replied, "Of course I do."

Looking down at the head now resting on his shoulder, Draco smiled back. "Good."

Their hands were still interlocked as Draco leaned his head on top of Harry's. To anyone looking on, they could've seemed like a couple. Or maybe they were two friends, comforting each other at the end of a long, harsh, day; looking for something real to hold onto, something to keep them from breaking down, something to keep them sane, in the midst of insanity, and death. Maybe it was a budding romance, just unfurling, just beginning. Maybe it was a new friendship, formed by two old enemies that realized school quarrels and envy were unimportant. Maybe it was, for once, an enemy who had turned out to be friend, instead of the other way around.

It was a new concept for Harry. An enemy who's a friend. It opened limitless possibilities to him. So many things thought hopeless, so many things that were wrong in the world… Could they be made right? They had already made the first step. Voldemort was gone, the Deatheater's were gone, animosity was gone, two enemies now friends… Anything seemed possible. Was it possible?

Maybe…

Maybe…

Maybe…

So many maybes. One certainty.

It was something new.

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Review? I take constructive criticism quite well. Tell me if there's anything you think I could work on


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